A Game of Stags, Lions and Roses
by AbsoLarryLutely
Summary: What if Robert & Cersei had a trueborn son? How would the presence of a legitimate son of Robert effect the game of thrones between the three biggest houses of Westeros. AU OC/Margaery/Joffrey
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

It might be a little slow in the beginning, so please be patient and keep on reading. Currently rated as T but will probably go up to M in later chapters. Also, I've aged the characters up slightly from the books.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or any characters in this story.

As always, feedback is appreciated.

* * *

The wooden swords collided with a sharp crack. The two brothers eyed each other, their stares never wavered. Both were Princes of King Robert I, Joffrey, the heir to the throne, and Eddard, the second born, were living embodiments of sibling rivalry.

"Just give up. Listen to your elder for once." Eddard said mockingly as he easily parried one of Joffrey's attacks. "I thought you said you'd be the prince to live up to father's standards?"

"Elder?" Joffrey scoffed. "I'm older by a year."

"You've got me in age." Eddard tapped the side of his head. "But I've got at least twenty on you in sense."

Annoyed, Joffrey lunged forward and swung wildly, missing his target completely. Having easily dodged the attack Eddard swung a powerful stroke at his brother's head.

"Halt!"

Eddard's wooden blade stopped inches from Joffrey's head. The two boys backed away from each other as the master-at-arms, Ser Aron Santagar, strode towards them.

"You are supposed to be disarming your opponent, not trying to kill him."

"I'm sorry, ser," said Eddard. "The stroke was ill aimed."

"Continue!" Aron barked, returning to oversee the rest of the sword drills.

Joffrey made the first move, charging forward. Eddard avoided the first swing, but Joffrey pressed the attack and they crashed together. With their swords locked, the two Princes began to push against one another, both wanting to give no quarter.

His fall was sudden, the trip deliberate and it caught him by surprise. Eddard hit the ground face first with a heavy thud. He rolled onto his back and peered up to see Joffrey gloat down at him.

"The backup in the dirt, just where he belongs." Joffrey planted his foot squarely onto his brother's chest in victory.

Eddard tried to rise but found himself pinned. He tasted the blood from his split lip in his mouth as a fury began to pulse in his temples. A sense of justice and a fiery temper were always earning him punishments. As far as he was concerned this was cheating, an unknightly act, a crime committed at the feet of his biggest rival.

In vain he struggled. "Let me up."

"Is that a whining plea?"

"You tripped me, coward." Eddard spat out. "In a fair fight I would put you down."

"What is fairness, brother? It is the strongest who rule and the weakest who submit. Do as others do, as I require."

"Never."

Joffrey increased the pressure on his brother's chest. "I will hurt you."

The Crown Prince turned to gloat to the watching squires, but doing so momentarily decreased the pressure on his foe's chest. Eddard slipped free, scrambled to his feet and was soon upon his brother in a blazing fury. They grappled and rolled blindly on the ground as the squires roared with laughter. Soon Eddard was flailing punches as Joffrey desperately attempted to shield himself.

"I meant nothing by it." Joffrey pleaded. "Please, we can talk."

Eddard landed a punch. "Yield."

Blood flowed from Joffrey's nose, mingling with his tears. "Yes...yes...stop, I yield."

Eddard sat aside Joffrey, panting as he savoured his victory. Slowly, he became aware of the silence, the squires were no longer laughing but scattering back to their drills, even Joffrey had ceased his babbling. Eddard looked up to see Ser Aron striding over to them, curious at the commotion. Dread began to fill him, he couldn't get in trouble again, his mother already told him he was on his last warning. There was only one thing he could do. He felt a stab of guilt for what he was about to do but his mind reasoned that he shouldn't, Joffrey wouldn't hesitate to do the same if he could.

"Sorry about this, brother," Eddard whispered. Thinking quickly he grabbed his head and sunk on to the flat of his back as a stunned Joffrey began to pull himself up and wiped the blood from his nose.

"He attacked me viciously without reason." Eddard lied the moment Ser Aron arrived on the scene.

"T-that's a lie." Joffrey shouted, somewhat startled at the turn of events.

"I lie here wounded, ser." Eddard cried in fake agony.

"I shall injure you for such lies." Joffrey span to face his brother, his face reddened in anger.

"See how he threatens me," said Eddard, continuing to play to the audience.

Ser Aron gestured for Eddard to leave with the squires while he had a word with Joffrey. With a sigh of relief Eddard did as he was told.

* * *

Margaery Tyrell gave an impatient sigh as she stared out of a window of the Tyrell's temporary residence in King's Landing for what felt like the hundredth time. The family had arrived in the city for the royal tourney and there was nothing Margaery wanted to do more than go exploring the capital, but she couldn't, at least not until the Baratheon representatives had spoken with her father.

_How much longer?_ Normally she was a patient person but now that they had arrived in the capital that virtue was fast disappearing.

She turned her back to the offending window and began to fuss with some of the scornful looking portraits of her ancestors. She stopped to examine the portrait of Harlen Tyrell, the first Lord of Highgarden after the War of Conquest, wondering what he would think of their plan to put the family within reach of the Iron Throne.

She glanced offhandedly towards the window and saw something that made her heart thump with excitement and a little trepidation.

_They're here! At last!_ Margaery ran over to the window. She watched as the cavalcade of horses, with fluttering Baratheon banners, passed by to a fanfare of trumpets, not that the importance of these visitors needed proclaiming, especially to Margaery.

Margaery had been preparing for this day since she was born, raised with the single purpose of becoming a queen. As her grandmother said, becoming a queen was the summit of ambition for a girl. She had always known that her marriage was going to be more than a simple union of two people but also used for the advancement of House Tyrell.

She clutched at the rose pendant, having been handed down for generations, that hung around her neck.

"Please let him be handsome," she muttered to herself.

She hadn't seen him, only heard biased stories about how attractive and charismatic he was, but of equal importance was the news that he wasn't driven by the same passion for food and wenching as his father.

According to her grandmother she had glimpsed Joffrey once, about a year or two ago, from a distance. Lady Olenna told her Crown Prince Joffrey had arrived in Highgarden in disguise, on his way to Lannisport, a daring adventure to win the hand of some maiden there, but upon seeing Margaery dance he was captivated by her beauty. She smiled as she thought about how easily she fell for that. _A child's tale. _Now she realised it was simply a tale told to captivate a young girl with the romance of the story.

Lifting up the skirt of her dress she ran the length of the room and out of the door, bumping into her older brother, Willas.

"I was just coming to get you." Willas said. "Grandmother would like to see you first." He smiled, knowing how desperately his little sister had been longing for their guests to arrive. "She's waiting for you outside the hall."

Margaery hesitated. "How do I look?"

"Like a queen."

"There have been some ugly queens," she pointed out.

"Well, you are a pretty one."

"Thank you, brother." Margaery spun, making her skirt twirl. "Wish me luck then."

* * *

Eddard stared morosely at the heavy oak door, flanked by two guards, as he waited to be beckoned in. The door swung inwards and Ser Boros of the Kingsguard stepped out and then gestured for the Prince to enter.

The Queen's chambers were cool and light, with a view overlooking one of the beautiful royal gardens. Cersei sat at a table covered in scrolls and sheaves of parchments.

Eddard saw displeasure etched in his mother's brow as he entered.

"Do you comprehend how fortunate you are?" Cersei questioned.

"Fortunate?"

"To be in your position. A position denied to others."

"Yes."

"Then why do you betray your eminent station?"

Eddard said nothing.

"Mute, are you?"

"No, but I can't reply when I do not know what I have done to displease you." He spoke softly and slowly, careful to hide the slight stammer that had affected him since childhood.

"You don't know what you've done to displease me?" Cersei's tone became harsher, her speech adopting contractions. "Then perhaps it's your memory and not your mouth that is deficient. A prince doesn't brawl like a tavern drunk."

"B-but Joffy..." Eddard began to feel uneasy as his mother's eyes bored into him.

"I don't care if Joffrey started it." Cersei interrupted. "You should have known better."

"I'm sorry, mother," said Eddard. "I wo-won't disappoint you again."

Cersei rested her forearms on the table and laced her fingers together. "How many times have I heard that? You seem incapable of obeying the most basic rules and I will not tolerate it any further."

The Queen studied her tall, wiry son, several strands of his unkempt black hair hanging before his green eyes. She was absorbed in thought as she got up and looked out over the garden. She had considered excluding him from Joffrey's 15th name day tourney in a couple of days' time but that would be an idle threat, Robert would probably ensure his son got to participate. He was an accident, she hated how much he looked like his father at times and loathed how he was named after a member of that family. She was certain Robert did it on purpose, knowing full well that whenever she heard her son's name she would think of Stark and that would inevitably lead her mind to Lyanna, the name that haunted her marriage from the very first night. But, no matter how much had Robert tried, she could never stay angry with Eddard. He was still second in line to the throne and those green eyes reminded her that he was still part Lannister, still part hers.

As the silence dragged on Eddard's unease increased. He had never seen his mother this ominously quiet. After what seemed to him an eternity, she turned to face him.

"I know about your little visit to Rhaenys's Hill." Cersei watched as Eddard quickly averted his gaze to the floor, though she couldn't work out whether it was through shame or embarrassment.

"H-how do you know?"

"Your father told me," she lied.

"He told you?" Eddard couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed by his father, after all it was his idea for him to become a 'man' and he promised not to tell his mother. "Ca-can I . . . . receive my punishment . . . . and be dismissed . . . . please?"

"No, you may not be dismissed. I'm not finished."

"I-I don't want to speak of this."

"We won't have to if you start behaving like the prince I know you can be." Cersei walked over to her son and grasped his hands. "You can't continue to jeopardise your position with such actions. As a prince you need to set a higher standard than everyone else and that cannot be done inside a brothel. Is that clear?"

Eddard nodded.

"Good." Cersei let go of her son. "It's nearly time for your daily tuition from Grand Maester Pycelle."

With a sigh Eddard trudged off to find the Grand Maester.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: As you can probably tell already these first few chapters are going to be OC heavy, simply because I wanted to build up the character and establish relationships within the narrative rather than have a few paragraphs of notes explaining everything.

**Reviews are very much appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"Looks like rain." Ronald Storm said grimly as he watched the grey clouds slowly advance across the sky.

Eddard looked at the bastard son of Ser Ronnet Connington, the Knight of Griffin's Roost, and smiled. _Any excuse to get out of training._

"Can we go inside?" asked Ronald. "I don't want to fight in a damp jerkin." Ronald looked back to see Eddard shifting his feet on the straw strewn courtyard and readying his wooden sword and shield. "Look at the sky Ned, they will break soon."

"As will your head." Eddard responded.

Ronald turned pleadingly to Ser Aron who frowned at them.

"A knight does not fear rain." Aron said. "The tourney is tomorrow and a knight fights in all weathers. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ser!" the squires cried in unison.

Ronald snarled and showed his Dornish master-at-arms he understood by charging at his sparring partner, Eddard. The Prince slanted slightly to Ronald's left, as if stabbing at an invisible opponent. Eddard's shield stood between him and Ronald while his right arm thrust outward at thin air. This left Ronald with a dilemma. If he veered left to meet his opponent he would throw himself onto Eddard's sword and if veered in any other direction he would be conceding ground, something his aggressive nature never liked doing in a fight.

Faltering, Ronald slammed into Eddard's shield; the Prince rocked back and lifted his arm. Ronald's momentum sent him over Eddard's shoulder and landed heavily on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

Eddard turned around and lurched forward with a chuckle, the point of his wooden sword at his friend's throat.

"I yield." Ronald laughed.

They glanced up at the balcony overseeing the courtyard, where a lone figure stood motionless, her bodyguards hidden in the darkness.

* * *

On another day Cersei might have played along and proclaimed Eddard the victor. Although she stared at the squires training she saw nothing, her mind elsewhere.

She turned and walked back towards her chambers, sweeping down the long corridors.

"Blasted Lannisters, everywhere!" a voice she recognised as Robert cried from down the corridor.

Cersei didn't acknowledge the presence of her husband, not wanting to listen to another rant about how her family littered the city. She breezed into her chambers. Too late she realised he had caught sight of her. There were no other exits, she was cornered, she was going to have to have a conversation with him. She turned to face her husband, straining a smile.

Robert made his way over to the table and helped himself to the wine.

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Cersei asked, hoping, praying even, for a reply of no.

"The question should be, do you want me at dinner." Robert responded downing half the glass of wine in one big swallow.

"Probably best you don't. The boys are nervous enough about tomorrow without listening to tales of your youth."

"Ah, yes, the tourney." Robert helped himself to more wine. "We're wasting a tourney on Joffy's name day."

Cersei ignored the comment. "Eddard's competing in the squires' contest."

Robert scoffed, unable to hide his disappointment his son hadn't lived up to his namesake. "That should be funny to watch."

The Queen couldn't prevent the sigh from escaping her mouth. "Maybe if you showed the boys a little affection..." Cersei trailed off, she could feel her temper beginning to flare but was also tired of this old argument between them. She noticed her husband's face harden.

"Maybe if you didn't constantly cuddle them then they wouldn't be so..." Now it was Robert's turn to trail off. "You are too lenient on the boys," he said with a heavy sigh. "Boys of their age are like dogs. They respond better to a whip than words."

"I disagree."

The King shrugged. "I merely offer an opinion."

"Your opinion is noted," she replied, her expression unreadable.

For a few moments there was silence, save for the muffled footsteps of servants going about their duties, neither husband nor wife capable of or desiring to continue the conversation.

"You're going to be late for your hunt." Cersei said eventually.

Taking that as his cue to leave Robert put the glass down and swept passed his wife without so much as a word of goodbye.

* * *

The roast beef was perfect, the vegetables fresh and crisp. A small woman came and went without a word, clearing the plates and bringing more food. With Robert absent Cersei sat at the head of the table, Joffrey to her right, Eddard to her left and Tommen and Myrcella further down, the hierarchy of the family around the dinner table.

"Did you know your father had won two tourneys when he was your age?"

Eddard looked up surprised. His mother rarely spoke of his father, unless he was in the room.

"It's time you won one," she added.

"I will try my best." Even Eddard noticed the lack of confidence in his voice.

"Make sure you do. I mentioned to your grandfather that I was expecting great things of you on the field."

"Try not to embarrass us." Joffrey interjected. "I don't want to spend my name day apologising for your existence."

"It'll be hard." Eddard chose to ignore his brother's taunts. "Hugh's a good..."

"Jon Arryn's squire is nothing," snapped Cersei. "You are second in line to the throne. When Joffrey becomes king your record must speak for itself if you're to serve him. It is imperative you win."

"Yes, mother," he whispered.

* * *

Her companion Nestor was, according to her grandmother, a well-placed palace attendant and bald with what could only be described as a plain face.

"The royal apartments are in Maegor's Holdfast." Nestor explained. He spoke briskly as he escorted the young Tyrell through the corridors of the Red Keep. "It's a square fortress with walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes. It's essentially a castle within a castle."

Margaery just listened. She didn't find this sort of thing interesting but she continued to listen nonetheless, hopeful to glean valuable information about important figures in the Red Keep's hierarchy, power struggles and juicy rumours. As she walked she paid close attention to the servants, looking for signs that might reveal which ones were informants for palace officials.

"Lady Margaery." Nestor had stopped a few feet ahead, noticing she had fallen behind, but more importantly giving her the signal.

As she quickened her pace to catch up he came around the corner in a hurry and knocked her to the ground.

He'd been surprised to see someone other than a servant in the Keep. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Hello," she said as she examined the figure, dressed in a black leather jerkin with crimson thread inlay, before her.

His shoulders were pronounced by leather extensions, almost like shoulder pads, with decorative studs along the margins of the extensions and the width of his chest was extended and enhanced by a series of horizontal buckles from chest to waist. Margaery noted that the tailor continued the motif of marking up the prominent features of the Prince's body with his breeches. His predominately black breeches had a crimson coloured material, in the shape of an arrow head pointing to his knees, covering his thighs in order to highlight and project them as being powerful while the margin of the front of his jerkin lined up directly with the golden lines on his breeches, extending the line of his body from his shoulders to his knees.

As Margaery continued her searching gaze she couldn't help but notice that the bottom of his jerkin opened up just at the point of the laces of his breeches, as if to point a visual arrow at his package. She smiled, his clothing was a festival of visual excess. The tailor had done a splendid job of creating the illusion that instead of a boy this person was as big, broad and invincible as any knight. She couldn't help but admire how the leather and fabric was quilted so intricately that it made you want to touch it to see what it felt like. She made a mental note to find out the name of this tailor.

Eddard was silent for a moment, temporarily rendered mute by her beauty. As Margaery rose to her feet, her light blue dress clung to her slender frame, the long skirt making her appear taller. Along with the dress arm sleeves and her hair brushed back behind her shoulders it gave her the appearance of a youthful, innocent maiden. But the conservative nature of her dress didn't extend to the front, where it opened up revealing parts of her upper torso. The Prince couldn't help but notice the added extra, sure to set many a man's pulses racing, a rose pendant that nestled between her breasts.

"You're Lord Tyrell's daughter?" he stammered nervously, correctly guessing from the golden roses that adorned her dress.

"I am." Her eyes sparkled. "Although, I prefer to be called Margaery. And you are?" she asked, despite knowing full well who he was.

The sound of her voice settled any nervous. "Very remiss of me not to have introduced myself." He bowed. "I'm Eddard Baratheon." He turned to the attendant. "You can go, I can escort Lady Margaery to the tourney."

Satisfied with successfully arranging the accidental meeting he was paid to Nestor left.

"I've heard about you from your uncle, Lord Renly," she said with a slight smile and a bow.

"You have?" said Eddard, attempting to sound nonchalant. "What have you heard?"

"That you're the King and Queen's second son and you're always in trouble."

"You know nothing of me," spat Eddard, he didn't need to be reminded he was a disappointment to his parents, "and neither does my uncle."

Margaery took a step back at the flare of anger from the boy. "I'm sorry, My Prince. I did not mean to upset you."

Eddard looked away, fighting back the temper that overcame him so suddenly. "You're just a girl. What would you know of anything?"

"More than a boy who spends his time hitting things with a stick." Margaery turned bright pink, realising she had not only been rude to a prince, but also lost control, something her grandmother had always said was important not to do. "Sorry, My..." she began to apologise.

Eddard raised a hand to stop her, finding her sudden burst of annoyance refreshing from the usual fawning. "Not needed. I was rude."

Margaery smiled, an infectious smile that made him respond in kind.

"Would you walk with me?" The Prince offered his arm.

"Of course, My Prince."

"Please, call me Ned." Eddard made a note to slow his pace, partly to keep in time with Margaery's ladylike walk, but mainly to delay his arrival at the tourney fields.

"Are you confident in winning the day's honours?" Margaery asked.

Eddard forced a weak smile and nodded, she could tell he was nervous. She exaggerated her observance of the bright ordered flowerbeds. "It is nice to see King's Landing is almost as splendid as Highgarden?"

A natural smile appeared on the Prince's lips, glad the subject had changed. "Almost?"

Margaery bit her lower lip, wondering if she had offended the Prince, but then smiled upon realising he genuinely wanted to know why the capital was only almost as nice as her home.

"There are some similarities."

"Such as?"

"The Red Keep has some beautiful buildings and gardens that are on par but the rest of the city is..." Margaery paused as she pondered how to continue. "The capital is a muddle."

"A muddle?"

"In Highgarden we strive for uniformity and clean lines while here is a mixture of battlements and whims of kings. It's wonderfully surreal."

"I suppose it is."

* * *

They continued to talk endlessly about the differences between Highgarden and King's Landing as they travelled through the Red Keep, down through River Row, out of the King's Gate, halting at the edge of the tourney fields along the Blackwater Rush.

High lords and fabled champions had come from all over the realm to compete in the main jousting event but before that was the single combat event for the green boys, the sons and squires of high lords and fabled knights. Luckily the grim skies of the past few days had given way to a glorious summer sunshine.

Eddard handed the reigns of his horse to an awaiting attendant as he helped Margaery dismount.

"Is this almost as splendid as Highgarden?" The Prince asked once Margaery was on the ground.

The young Tyrell looked around her. The sunlight glistened off the river as the surrounding field gleamed with colourful pavilions and house banners fluttered in the light summer breeze. She was pretty certain she could make out the golden tree of House Rowan among the colourful sea of pennants.

"I must admit I've never seen so many crests," an awe struck Margaery said.

As they walked among the pavilions Margaery began to wonder if this many Houses would turn out for a tourney to celebrate her wedding. One pennant in particular attracted her curiosity.

"Is that?" she asked, unsure why a lord would make that their coat of arms.

Eddard laughed. "Yes, that's a pea pod. Belongs to House Peasebury of Poddingfield."

"Poddingfield?"

"It's in the Stormlands."

Margaery assumed they weren't a major house as Loras never mentioned the Peasebury name in his stories about when he was a squire for the Lord of Storm's End. "Is the Crown Prince competing today?" she asked out of the blue as they arrived outside the Tyrell pavilion.

Eddard was caught off guard by the question, resisting the urge to frown at her sudden interest in his brother. "Uh...no, our mother thought it wouldn't be fitting as the tourney is in his honour."

"Then I shall cheer for you, My Pr...Ned."

"You honour me, milady."

Margaery tied her blue-green silk shawl on Eddard's left arm.

"For luck. And please, call me Margaery," she said with another infectious smile. She stared at the Prince's eyes for a few seconds, mesmerised by them, their greenness enhanced by his black hair and attire.

"Thank you Margaery." With a bow of his head a blushing Eddard turned to make his way to the competitors' pavilion, completely missing the sight of a scowling Lord Tyrell nearby.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

A cheer erupted from the crowd gathered around the squires event as the herald announced the triumph of the victor while the loser, Ronald Storm, withdrew back to the competitor's pavilion.

Ronald entered the tent to see Eddard by the trestle table where the swords were laid out. The Prince was testing the weight of them, swinging them back and forth.

Eddard looked round at Ronald. "Unlucky."

"Thanks," beamed Ronald, happy to get further in the tourney than expected. "Promise to give Hugh a beating in the final."

Eddard nodded dully. _One more victory._

"What's wrong?" Ronald asked.

"Nothing." Eddard frowned. "Just concentrating, that's all. No prize's for second best."

"That doesn't matter," said Ronald with a shrug and then gestured at the shawl tied around his friend's arm. "I've been meaning to ask you. There's talk that you escorted Lady..."

"Can't it wait!" Eddard gestured at the field outside. "I've got to go out there and fight soon."

After a few moments Eddard selected his weapon of choice, stared at the field beyond the pavilion flaps, then with a deep inhale of breath strode out with the sword grasped tightly in his fist. _It is imperative you win_, his mother's voice ringed in his head as if on a continuous loop.

* * *

Cersei rubbed her temples and pursed her lips. The constant clashing of steel, clangour of trumpets, cheering crowds and acclamations of heralds had brought about a headache. She hoped Eddard wouldn't make it worse. Hugh, squire to Jon Arryn, was not a fitting champion for her Joffrey's tourney.

The band of trumpeters flourished announcing the arrival of the two finalists. Cersei raised her eyes to see Eddard advance slowly into the arena, slightly impressed with the look of determination etched across his face. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Joffrey had flung his legs over an arm of his chair, barely interested in the contest. He was obviously more excited about the upcoming jousts between the lords and knights of the realm, which she assumed her brother Jaime was going to win.

* * *

Eddard's opening charge was fierce, his sword pushing his slightly bigger opponent, Hugh, back. The two stamped across the field, trading blows, the clashing of blunted tourney swords drowning out the sounds of the crowd. With a powerful swing Eddard slashed Hugh's tunic, drawing a bit of blood.

A brief cheer sounded from the low-born audience, obviously wanting the home town Prince to win. Even Robert was on the edge of his seat, never having seen one of his sons fight so well. Eddard was moving gracefully, every blow delivered was precise and powerful. _Few more years of growth and he'll be wielding a war hammer._ "That's how you fight, Joffy," Robert said excitedly to his eldest son sitting beside him. "You might want to ask Ned to teach you a few things."

Back and forth the two traded blows, then Hugh slipped on a patch of mud, dropping his sword as he sprawled across the floor. Eddard hesitated unsure what to do. He could hear his mother's voice telling him to finish him. As he raised his sword high to deliver the final blow he glanced at the shawl tied around his arm. With a sigh Eddard lowered his sword and took a couple of steps back, notions of honour refusing to let him win like this.

Cersei grasped the arms of her chair tighter as she watched Eddard allow Hugh to get back to his feet and pick up his sword. _Mercy? Surely he realises that is a weakness?!_ With a cheer from the crowd the contest resumed.

Hugh was tiring quickly. Eddard deflected several weak thrusts and then feinted right, but the more experienced Hugh hadn't fallen for it and took a step forward. They collided with a big thud, Eddard lost his balance and stumbled to his knees.

Blocking Hugh's blows the Prince staggered back to his feet and pushed his opponent back. As Hugh stumbled backwards, Eddard glanced briefly at the royal gallery. His father and siblings, even Joffrey, were watching, enjoying the spectacle, but his mother was in deep conversation with Lord Tywin, her eyes not even flickering towards the action.

The sword now felt heavy and awkward in the Prince's hand. His wrist became stiff, every swing slower. Hugh noticed the change and pressed his attack. Eddard made a half hearted swing. As Hugh parried it, the sword fell from Eddard's hand. The Prince scrambled to retrieve it, but wasn't fast enough. Lifting his blade high, Hugh brought it down over Eddard's neck, a killing blow if it had struck.

Hugh shouted triumphantly, raising his sword high as the herald declared him the winner of one of the day's honours. With his head hung low, Eddard slunk off towards the pavilion, noticing an expression as cold as death on the faces of his mother and older brother.

* * *

As he entered the pavilion, he tore off his leather jerkin and let it fall to the floor. He planted his hands on the trestle table, resisting the urge to throw it over, as a lump began to swell in his throat. Determined not to let tears fall he wiped at his eyes angrily.

"Leave us."

Eddard looked round at the voice to see the pavilion quickly empty. His mother stood in the tent opening, the light behind her too bright for him to see her face, but he was glad, he didn't want to see that look of disappointment on her.

"I'm sorry...I..."

"Save your excuses," said Cersei.

Eddard felt dread coil in his gut at the tone of her voice, that low, frigid tone he hated so much.

"I told you I wanted you to win," barked Cersei.

"B-but I couldn't..." cried Eddard.

The Queen closed the gap between them as she heard Robert's voice in her head, _Boys of their age are like dogs._

"I saw you. You lost that on purpose to spite Joffrey." Cersei grabbed Eddard by the shoulders and then shook him roughly. "Or was this to spite me?"

"No!" Eddard cried. "Y-you weren't even watching."

"What?"

Eddard looked up at his mother, not bothering to wipe the tears away any more. "I saw you. Y-you were busy talking to grandfather."

"I was telling him how impressed I was with you." Cersei responded in a scathing tone.

"It isn't just today. It's all the time," Eddard shook his head and tried to pull away. "I try and do . . . . what you ask . . . . but you're never satisfied." Eddard paused, in an attempt to regain control of his stammer. "Y-you've never given me a chance."

She released her son and backed away as she heard Robert's voice again, _They respond better to a whip than words_. Her fists clenched, turning her knuckles white, as her anger and maternal side debated Robert's suggestion. "I've given you the chances I never had when I was your..." she seethed.

"But, I'm not you!" Eddard shouted, taking a step forward, his green eyes bright with pain and fury. "I'm not you and I'm not my father and I'm not my brother! I'm not good enough, I know that!"

Cersei stared at her son, never having seen him speak so plainly and passionately to her. _I disagree. _As she remembered her response to Robert she felt her anger drain away. He might be willing to beat his children like he would an animal but she couldn't, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of him thinking that he was right or that she was on his level.

"I try my best," he whimpered.

"I'm doing this for you," said Cersei, her voice now much quieter. "You have to understand that."

Eddard was crying too much to answer.

"Eddard." Cersei moved closer to her son and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Look at me." He tried to turn away but Cersei took the boy's chin in her hand. "Do you think I want to treat you like this? You force me to when you fail to achieve what I know you're capable of."

Eddard stared up at his mother. "I want to be a good son and prince."

"I don't mean that," answered Cersei. "There are other things I want for you." She paused for a moment, wondering whether she should let him know what she had planned for him. _That can wait._ "I haven't always found teaching you to be an easy task. Perhaps, I have treated you more harshly than your brother, but I have to push you. I need you to be better than everyone else. That's why I do this," she murmured, touching her son's cheek and then pulled him into her arms. "Sooner or later you'll realise everyone but us is the enemy."


	4. Chapter 4

**As always, feedback is appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

A grand banquet was held in honour of Joffrey's name day. On the top table sat the King and Queen with the Crown Prince and his tourney champions - Ser Loras Tyrell, Lord Yohn Royce and Hugh.

Margaery found, to her delight, that she was seated next to Eddard on the table for the sons and daughters of high lords. She ummed and ahhed as to whether to offer her commiserations on his defeat but soon decided against it, remembering how much Loras use to sulk whenever Garlan bested him.

The prince looked a little perplexed at being seated at a banquet table the same height as everyone else's while his younger siblings seemed to revelling in their newfound freedom, talking and joking with people that were neither Lannister or Baratheon for the first time.

"It was suggested I sit here with you, to keep you entertained." Margaery stated as she sat down.

"Thank you, mil...Margaery," he quickly corrected himself. "That is very considerate."

"Shrewd too. I expect we'll be served the finest cuts."

Eddard smiled. "We will."

* * *

Joffrey leaned against the wall of the corridor and wiped his face with the sleeve of his tunic. He could hear the music and laughter continuing in the great hall without him, as if his absence hadn't even been noticed.

_That's how you fight, Joffy. You might want to ask Ned to teach you a few things. _His father's words echoed back to him, distorted with a cruelty that wasn't there when uttered, but now seeped his memory, wounding him like a knife turning. It was his name day. All day he'd felt so powerful. Everyone's attention had been focused on him and he had basked in it. For the first time he could remember in a long time he had felt like the son of a king, felt like a man getting to observe the tourney in his name. But with a few words his father had wiped out all that and now he felt like a child again. As far as he was concerned his parents had shown their true colours, their true allegiances today. His father praised his backup brother over him while his mother was more concerned with consoling the same loser of a brother instead of watching the main event of his tourney.

Joffrey began to pace up and down the corridor, glaring at every servant that passed him. He wanted to punch the wall, but was afraid it would hurt.

"What is wrong, my prince?"

Joffrey whipped around at the voice. Before him stood a short man of slender build with grey-green eyes, a small pointed beard and threads of grey running through his black hair.

"Where have you been?" demanded Joffrey.

Joffrey noticed Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger as he was more commonly known, was fiddling with his Master of Coin badge.

"Why do you toy with that?" Joffrey asked irritated.

Littlefinger resisted the urge to smile at getting the reaction he wanted out of the young prince. "It was a gift from your father. You don't throw away things he gives you, do you?"

"My father gives me nothing," replied Joffrey moodily.

"That will change," said Littlefinger, giving the boy his full attention now he'd raised the prince's ire.

"No, it won't. I tried to join in one of his discussions, as you suggested." Joffrey lowered his voice to ensure passing servants couldn't overhear them. "He dismissed me like I was a child."

Littlefinger grinned.

"What's so funny?" Joffrey snapped.

"I have a plan that will make you sit as your father's right hand until the day you take the throne."

* * *

A seemingly endless train of pageboys paraded boar, venison, pork, beef, mutton, capon and every other type of meat around the hall. The mouth-watering aroma drifted through the air as the sound of tinkling cutlery joined the general hum of conversation, laughter and music.

"Do you like to read?" Margaery asked.

Eddard laughed. "My mother hasn't given me much choice. As she says, a good prince has to be studious." He paused for a moment as he thought about how that didn't seem to hold true for Joffrey. "I don't mind though. So long as I can enjoy myself afterwards."

"And how do you like to enjoy yourself?" Margaery asked playfully and glanced at his near empty cup. "Besides drinking wine, that is?"

"The same as every other young man I suppose."

Eddard looked at her and their eyes connected for a few moments before he turned his head away and looked over to the corner where the beautiful music that drifted across the room came from.

Margaery blushed at the thought he must have been thinking of the pleasures that occupied young men and were forbidden to women until marriage. She knew she should have been offended that he was thinking such thoughts about her, as if she were a servant girl whose rear might be pinched, but she wasn't, if anything she liked it, more than she could ever say.

With his cup refilled Eddard, taking advantage of his father's demand that the banquet have as much wine as anybody could drink, raised it to Margaery in a toast.

Margaery responded in kind and took a long swig. The wine, combined with the excitement of the occasion, left her in a mischievous mood.

With a gleam in her eyes she plucked a cherry from the bowl and popped it into her mouth, making sure she had established eye contact with Eddard. Upon removing the stone she put the stem into her mouth, fighting the urge to laugh at the look of confusion on the prince's face, but managed to keep a playful, seductive gaze.

The stem swished and rolled inside her mouth. With a slow smile Margaery took the knotted stem from her lips and placed it in front of Eddard.

Eddard looked at her, then the stem, then back at her in amazement. "H-how...?"

She might act shy and sweet in front of strangers but she knew how to flirt. Her grandmother taught her that flirting was one of the most powerful weapons in a highborn woman's arsenal and while she had fun practising on the sons of lords and on the odd pageboy she was revelling in twisting a prince around her little finger.

* * *

Margaery lay in her bed, eyes open in the darkness, staring at the silk and velvet hangings. She was certain it was the noise of boisterous drunks in the streets keeping her awake and not her mind constantly running over the events of the past few days.

She heaved a tired sigh, wishing she could simply drift off to sleep. She wasn't sure why her grandmother told her to put so much effort into seducing the backup son when it was Joffrey who was going to make her the queen. But then again, who was she to question the ways of the Queen of Thorns. All she knew so far was marriage negotiations were on-going with the King's representatives and she'd yet to meet her future husband.

The young Tyrell tried to imagine what it would be like to have Joffrey kiss her and whisper sweet nothings to her. But it was Eddard's voice she heard in her head. She found it hard to imagine what Joffrey's voice sounded like and from what she'd seen of him so far at the tourney and banquet, it was even hard to imagine him smiling.

A burst of laughter from outside snapped her back to reality.

"Bad luck," bellowed a voice. "Walk tall and give everyone an eyeful."

Margaery turned over to face the window, listening.

"Walk tall!?" another voice laughed. "He can barely stand."

"Shall we help him?"

"No, leave him. He has little madam Tyrell's favour, that should keep him warm."

More laughter broke out, followed by footsteps and then silence.

Margaery pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, a little dismayed to hear that she might be nicknamed 'little madam Tyrell'. She opened a gap in the curtains to see the first rays of the dawn sun.

Intrigued, she ventured out of her room, down the dimly lit stairs and outside to the garden where the voices originated.

As she got outside she caught a glimpse of movement to her left. Deciding to investigate she found a pale shape hiding behind a bush.

"Don't come any closer," the voice called out.

"My prince?" Margaery stepped tentatively closer, recognising the voice. "Are you all right?"

"Very well, thank you."

Her hands shot up to shield her eyes as he rose unsteadily to his feet, covering himself with his hands.

"I lost them," he said, pre-empting her question.

"You lost your clothes?" she replied incredulously.

"You Highgardners are better at cards than I expected," he stated, somewhat wishing his uncle Tyrion hadn't introduced him to the game.

Margaery made a gap in her fingers to peek at him, finding herself caught between embarrassment, fascination and excitement. She'd never seen the male gender naked before and was finding it an enormous effort to stop her eyes from drifting southward. She began to blush and her heart pounded harder as her mind started to imagine what was concealed behind his cupped hands.

"I'll be on my way."

"If you don't mind me saying, my prince, but you have a long way to go to the Red Keep, with no clothes on."

"Fortunately it's a mild morning," he replied with a chuckle.

They could hear the movement of servants in the surrounding buildings, setting about the start of their daily chores.

"What if you're seen?" Margaery asked.

"It'll not go well," Eddard paused to wonder how his mother would to react news he was found walking through the city naked. "If I'm caught talking to you, it'll be much worse. I best leave, for both our sakes."

Margaery, having long let her arms fall to her side, pursed her lips at the thought of being caught. He was right. Her maidenhead was something Crown Prince Joffrey would value, even more so than her family name and resources, so it wouldn't be at all helpful to her prospects of becoming his queen to be caught with his naked brother. She knew a tale of little madam Tyrell and the naked prince would not only spread across the realm like wildfire but would get further from the truth with each drunken rendition. The thought of being in a ribald song to rival The Bear and the Maiden Fair led to a voice in her head, sounding much like her grandmother, telling her to flee, but she knew she couldn't leave him in this embarrassing situation.

"Wait a moment."

She ran back to her chamber, snatched her cloak and ran all the way back.

"Here," she said breathlessly.

Eddard didn't make any attempt to move for the cloak and it took Margaery a couple of seconds to realise he couldn't take it without exposing himself.

"Right," she said to herself, accepting it was a task she'd have to do herself.

As she moved closer he stepped backwards. The thought of a high and mighty prince reduced to helplessness in her presence made her smile but it also made him seem touchingly vulnerable to her.

"Perhaps if you crouched a little?" she suggested.

He was only slightly taller than her but she was still having difficulty getting her cloak around him. Eventually between them they managed to find a position that allowed her to reach around and drape the cloak over his shoulders.

Eddard raised his chin so that she could fasten the clasp for him, looking like a little boy getting dressed by his mother. The close proximity and the bizarreness of the situation caused her to fumble the clasp. He raised his hands to help. Realising he'd uncovered himself Margaery fought the urge to allow her eyes wander.

Before she knew what she was doing and stop herself, she leant forward and kissed him. It was a fleeting kiss but lasted long enough for her to taste the faint but pleasant rum in his mouth.

She sprang back to see him looking as stunned as she felt. They stared at each other speechless, neither experienced nor trained in how to deal with such an incident.

Her face burning with embarrassment and her mind spinning with the stupidity and wonderfulness of what she'd done, she turned and ran all the way back to her chamber.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N:

**Due to this chapter the story rating is going up to M (just in case).**

As always, feedback is appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

_His footsteps echo down the abandoned corridors of the Red Keep._

_"Hello," he calls out, feeling a stab of fear at his loneliness, the torches fighting their losing battle against the darkness hardly helping._

_As if in reply a faint music begins to play. Eddard hurries to the source and pushes open the large double doors to the Queen's ballroom to discover the mirrors behind the sconces was not doing their job of making the torch light seem brighter._

_He observes the partially hidden woman, dancing alone in the gloomy ballroom to music that seems to come from nowhere. Her golden dress looks ethereal and unreal, flowing with every movement she makes. Unable to see who she is Eddard strides forward. The room becomes bathed in light as he recognises that infectious smile._

_Margaery smiles as he approaches and offers her hand. In a chivalrous gesture Eddard kisses her fingers, their eyes linger on each other. His kisses move up her arm, her shoulder, her neck, finally to her lips. Each kiss grows more passionate._

_Without realising they are in the Prince's private chambers, rolling around on his bed. Eddard runs his hand gently under her skirt, up her leg, along her thigh, over her hips and resting finally on her buttock, each touch makes her tingle._

_She opens her legs as he draws her closer, pushing up her golden skirt. Eddard shivers as he feels his skin against her, a wave of bliss washes over him as she thrusts against him, her legs tightening around him, her arms clutching at his back. Margaery opens her mouth, as if a moan of pleasure threatens to escape but all that comes forth is a hollow sound of knuckles rapping on a door._

The sound of knuckles on a door continued as Eddard gasped for air as if he'd just re-surfaced after being held under water for a prolonged period of time. He wiped the sleepydust from his eyes and observed his surroundings to find a green cloak slung over his chair. With a heavy groan blurry memories began to flood back to him.

"Just a dream," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Margaery discovered that despite being worse for wear Eddard had gone out hunting with his father and several notable highborns, including her father and brother Willas. The King's passion for hunting was well known, so it wasn't until later in the day that the hunting party returned. She couldn't help but admire how elegant Willas looked astride his grey stallion with a hawk perched on his gauntleted wrist. She was certain he was going to be a fine Lord of Highgarden one day.

Eddard was not far behind. As the Prince dismounted, he offered Margaery the usual courtesies and made his excuses to leave, claiming he had a training session with Ser Jaime Lannister to attend. Margaery tried to tell herself that the Prince was embarrassed and ashamed by the state she'd found him in, but she still couldn't help but feel a bit angry with and slightly hurt by his apparent indifference towards her.

She cursed the stupidity of her actions under the dawn sun and wondered if that fleeting kiss she gave him had scared him off. Of one thing she was certain though, how was she supposed to entice someone who couldn't bare to spend five minutes with her any more Margaery bite her lower lip in thought, pondering how she could set things straight before returning to Highgarden tomorrow.

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister easily blocked Eddard's stiff and slow swing.

"You swing like a girl." Jaime mocked.

"Go to the seven hells."

"Oh, the boy has a mouth. Now if only he had an arm."

Annoyed, Eddard charged at Jaime, who simply sidestepped the attack and knocked the off balance Prince off his feet with a gentle swing of his sword.

"You should really take it easy on the boy, brother." Tyrion walked over with a leather flagon and poured the wine into a cup, which he offered to the Prince. "I imagine he's still feeling a bit delicate after last night."

Eddard began to drink it but immediately grimaced.

"Arbor gold, boy." Tyrion said. "From vineyards as sweet and smooth as a maiden's thigh." Tyrion refilled Eddard's cup. "Learn to appreciate it."

"Why are you here dear brother?" Ser Jaime asked, wanting to get this training session he'd been order to do over with.

"Curiosity. I've heard tales of a naked boy seen slipping out of the Tyrell residence this morning. I was wondering if the Prince knew anything about this."

Eddard hesitated and then shook his head. "No."

"You're a terrible liar nephew." Tyrion said. "Was a certain lady whose favour you wore involved?"

"Lost my clothes to cards," the Prince admitted. "Lady Margaery helped me get some new ones."

"Does she like you?"

"I think she does."

"You think?" Tyrion asked incredulously.

"We kissed. Briefly."

Even Jaime's ears perked up at this piece of information.

"And?" Tyrion inquired further.

"Nothing. She ran off."

"And do you like her?"

Eddard frowned. "I'm not sure. I think so." Truth be told he wasn't sure, all he knew was he wanted to see Margaery again but was too embarrassed to do so. Pretty much everything he knew of the world was learnt from either Grand Maester Pycelle or his mother. The excitement and mystery of romance was something he'd only ever heard about in tales of knights saving damsels. As for love, his parents weren't exactly the definition of an intense feeling of deep affection. "How do you know if you love someone?"

"When you want to show them your affections." Tyrion tried to explain. "Or, when you pray they share those same affections." A smile flicker of a smile played on the Imp's lips, remembering when he first met Tysha.

"How do you show your affections?" Eddard asked, looking up at his dwarf uncle from his seated position on the ground.

"You win tourneys and crown them as the Queen of Love and Beauty." Jaime interjected, helping himself to some of his brother's wine.

"The Prince is a little young to be winning tourneys that'll attract the attention of a Tyrell." Tyrion said. "No, there is only one way you can prove your affection for her."

"How?" Eddard's barrage of questions continued.

"Seduce her. Ravish her with words. Let her know how much you hurt not seeing her, that sort of thing."

Eddard looked to Ser Jaime for permission to leave, knowing full well he was going to need most of the day and maybe even the help of the court poet in order to write such a thing. He received permission with a nod of the Kingsguard's head.

Jaime watched Eddard leave and turned his attention back to Tyrion. "Are you sure that was a wise thing to do, brother?"

Tyrion knew what he meant. Both of them had learnt young you don't get what your heart wants. "The Prince is at an age where he should be allowed to experience the joy and despair of love. Let him enjoy its passion and intensity before he gets traded off to aid Joffrey's reign."

* * *

Margaery retired for the night, wanting to get an early night before tomorrow's journey home and found her cloak draped over the foot of her bed. As she got ready for bed she wondered how the Prince got someone to return it without having to explain how he came to be in possession of it in the first place.

As she lay in bed she wondered if instead he snuck into her chamber to return it and found herself wishing he was still here. Her cheeks flamed red as the memory of him naked filled her mind, her fevered imagination making the kiss seem longer, more passionate.

She sighed, forcing the memory back into the recesses of her mind and began to mentally curse everything for taking so long and becoming so complicated. She was certain that once she was betrothed to Crown Prince Joffrey she would stop thinking about lowly Prince Eddard.

Margaery kicked off the covers and decided that if she was going to get any sleep that night then she needed to put her cloak out of sight. As she picked it up something tumbled to the floor. She opened the folded paper to discover it was a letter addressed to her.

Without realising she began to read out parts of the letter to herself.

". . . . turning over in my mind the events of the past two days, I have put myself into great agony . . . . not knowing how to interpret such events between us . . . . I implore you to let me know your mind as to the potential love between us . . . . necessary for me to obtain this answer, for I have been stricken by love . . . . not yet sure whether I have failed in finding a place in your heart and your affections . . . . Your loving servant, E.B."

Margaery couldn't help but smile as she re-read the letter. Her grandmother would be most pleased to hear that she'd succeeded.

* * *

"I don't understand why we have dismissed Lord Renly's plan so quickly." Ser Loras Tyrell protested.

Back in Highgarden, a few weeks since Joffrey's name day, a select few of the Tyrell's had gathered for a parley to discuss their next course of action. The chamber was small and panelled with carved timber, had a table and six chairs, although only four was in use. The parley was of such importance that even servants weren't allowed to attend to their masters, in case any overheard something that could be used against them. The Tyrell's weren't stupid, they knew full well that although Highgarden belonged to them that wouldn't stop the likes of the Florents from paying servants to act as spies.

Lady Olenna heaved a heavy sigh at Loras' comments. She loved her grandson dearly but he failed to grasp the basics of politics, or even the concept of a line of succession.

"We haven't dismissed it, brother. We're simply re-evaluating our options." Willas offered diplomatically.

"Say we manage to marry Margaery to Robert, then what?" Olenna interjected, not caring about hurt feelings as much as Willas. "Any son produced would be fourth in line to the throne. Unless the gods aid us or we murder the other princes such a marriage would be pointless."

"Besides, has Lord Renly taken into account how the Lannisters would react to such a proposal?" It was Willas' turn to interject. "Garlan and I agree that the benefits of this proposal isn't worth the potential conflict with House Lannister."

Olenna couldn't help but smile at Willas' excellent use of Garlan's name. The Knight of Flowers might be fabled throughout the Seven Kingdoms but everyone in the Tyrell main line knew Garlan was the superior military mind. And with the eldest two of his three sons against the plan there was no way Lord Tyrell could follow through with it. "Even an overweight oaf like Robert realises it was the Lannisters who gave him his crown."

The Queen of Thorns wondered if her son picked up on her thinly veiled dig at him, as she knew he was originally a supporter of Renly's plan but also considered him as an overweight oaf. She glanced to see Lord Tyrell nod in agreement with everything his heir and mother had said. The fact that her son could finally see the stupidity of Renly's plan and Loras couldn't made her glad for the existence of Willas and Garlan. _Why can't Loras grasp that the endgame isn't Margaery on the throne but her son on it?_

"So, it's settled. We'll continue with the marriage negotiations for Joffrey." Olenna stated, happy to end this parley.

"Then why did you have my daughter socialising with the backup?" Lord Tyrell finally spoke. He knew his mother well enough to know that this was all part of some scheme she had planned but he didn't like being kept in the dark.

"Because he's exactly that." Olenna replied, barely masking the contempt in her voice. "If anything happens to Joffrey then we'll need the backup. Joffrey can be negotiated for; the backup has to be won."

Lord Tyrell understood what she meant. He was swamped with proposals from Lords offering their daughters and varying amounts of coin for Willas while his other three children were commodities for the advancement of his House. It was no different for the royal line. Joffrey's hand would have to be paid for while the backup would be offered to the principal Houses of the realm. If the backup ever became the heir then they'd have to find a way to convince him to break whatever betrothal or marriage he was in and join with them.

"It's no secret Robert favours joining his House with the Starks." Olenna was certain she heard a snort of derision from her son. "It is up to us to convince the King we are a better match."

"The Targaryen's are still a threat and the realm is in debt. The King needs my men and my coin. House Stark offers little of both." Lord Tyrell said, bitterness dripping off every word.

"Robert slayed Prince Rhaegar and ended the Targaryen dynasty, he won't need your men to kill the Beggar King." Olenna cut into her breakfast pastry. "We remained loyal to the Mad King, the Starks did not. You laid siege to the seat of House Baratheon and would have most certainly killed Robert's younger brothers in taking it." The Queen of Thorns made sure she established eye contact with her son before continuing. "As you should remember it was there where Lord Stark made you dip your banners. In the matters that concern Robert Baratheon House Stark offers more than House Tyrell."

* * *

"I was so disappointed to discover Renly was like all other Baratheon's, not much upstairs." Lady Olenna and Margaery walked through one of the many spacious gardens of Highgarden. "Turns out all those stories about how smart he is were just that. Stories."

"Grandmother! Loras speaks highly of Lord Renly."

"He would. Did he tell you Renly's plan?"

"No." Margaery could feel a frown developing, she didn't like the idea of Loras and Renly deciding her future. "Loras wanted your approval before informing me."

"Approval?" Olenna laughed. "More like he wanted me to convince you to go through with it. They wanted you to marry King Robert."

It wasn't the flaw in the plan that made Margaery cringe, but the thought of bedding Robert Baratheon. "It _was_ an ill thought plan," was the most diplomatic answer she could muster.

Olenna chuckled to herself, picking up on Margaery's emphasis on 'was', obviously hinting that even if the plan hadn't been dismissed she was putting a stop to it. "Ill thought suggests at least a minimum of thought went into the plan at some point, which I doubt." Olenna dismissed the idea from her mind and focused on more pressing concerns. "How are you doing with the backup?"

Margaery was caught off guard by the question and hesitated, remembering the kiss and the letter. "Good, we've been writing. He's smitten with me," she decided to omit certain events and details.

The Queen of Thorns narrowed her eyes, suspicious something was off with her granddaughter.

"Why do you have me socialising with the backup instead of the heir?" Margaery asked with as much indignation as she could muster, hoping to throw Olenna off the trail.

"That's not important. All you need to know it's vital to keep Eddard Baratheon 'smitten' with you."

* * *

Joffrey climbed over the blocks of fallen stones and entered the abandoned tower's lowest chamber, resisting the urge to sneeze from the clouds of dust that his presence had kicked up into the air.

The Crown Prince scanned the empty chamber and then glanced back at the doorway he'd entered through. He couldn't work out whether the silence was nerve settling or eery. The squat tower was a relic of the past, abandoned following Maegor I's death and left well alone by those who'd heard the stories that his wives Maegor the Cruel had executed haunted its halls, corridors and chambers.

Joffrey was brought out of his thoughts as he heard a noise behind him. Littlefinger had sneaked into the chamber.

"I didn't think you were coming."

"Please forgive me, my prince," said Littlefinger fawningly. "I needed to make sure praying eyes were absent."

"I've been waiting ages."

"It is but minutes since we spoke and arranged to meet."

"Not since we spoke," snapped Joffrey. "I've been waiting ages for you to tell me about your plan. Its been weeks."

"Yes, but we must wait for another first."

Joffrey scowled and began to pace. Moments later, another man had sneaked into the chamber. Joffrey stared at him in alarm, his mind struggling to think of a plausible explanation for being in an abandoned chamber with the Master of Coin.

"Uncle, Lord Renly," he stammered.

"Now we can begin," said Littlefinger.

"I can't stay for long," said Renly, glancing around nervously.

"What's happening?" asked Joffrey, trying with all his strength to mask the nervousness in his voice.

Renly looked at Littlefinger. "You haven't told him?"

"I wanted to be certain I had your support before I spoke to the Prince."

Joffrey became irritated at being spoken of as if he weren't there, but decided to hold his tongue until he knew what the two men were talking about. A small amount of doubt about this meeting began to creep into Joffrey's mind, a voice nagging him to remember that Renly and Petyr Baelish disliked each other and that he should inquire into what or who had brought them together. He shook his head to dispel those thoughts. He needed to focus on getting his father's approval first.

"Lord Renly has agreed to assist us," said Littlefinger.

"I will help you," said Renly to Joffrey, "but my part in this is to be kept secret. Do you understand?"

"Of course he understands," hissed Littlefinger. "He is not a child. He will one day be your king!"

"My sincere apologies, my prince," said Renly in a low voice, he and Littlefinger following the script to a T.

"You impudence is forgiven," said Joffrey, the sudden authority sent a thrill of pleasure through his body.

"In Pentos, one of the Free Cities," explained the Master of Coin. "Viserys Targaryen is attempting to build an army to conquer the country."

Joffrey shrugged carelessly. "He's been trying to recruit an army for years. Nothing's ever come of it."

"True." Littlefinger nodded. "But we have received word that Viserys is arranging for his sister to marry a Dothraki horselord in return for 10,000 men. He can use these men to court the support of Targaryen loyalists like the Darnys and Martells."

"King Robert has been informed of this." Renly lied. "But he refuses to deal with the matter, saying he wishes to concentrate on dealing with the Targaryen threat across the Narrow Sea before he makes any move against the traitors already within the realm."

Joffrey nodded understandingly. "What do you suggest?"

"We must attack them. If we sacked Darry it will show that Targaryen loyalism will not be tolerated."

"More than putting Darry to the sword must be done." Littlefinger added to Renly's comments. "Men must be butchered, the women defiled and the children orphaned. The ashes of Darry will send a message from Pyke to Pentos that those who oppose Baratheon Kings will be crushed."

Joffrey seemed impressed with what he was hearing. He'd always believed rebellions should be crushed with as much brutality as possible. Then he frowned as something dawned on him. "Only my father or his Hand can order such an action."

"True." Littlefinger said quickly. "But Lord Renly can supply us with King Robert's official seal. We'll send the message to take action with his seal stamped upon it."

"Then why do you need me?" Joffrey asked.

"Naturally Robert will be angered to hear that the order was sent in his name and with his seal." Renly began to explain. "He'll demand an investigation and you'll tell him you did it."

Instantly a sea of fear and panic washed over Joffrey. "I can't! He'd be so angry."

"You're his heir." Littlefinger said softly. "If Lord Renly or I say we did it we'll be imprisoned for impersonating the King. But he'll let you explain your actions. You will tell him you knew he was burdened with ruling and that you wanted to help him by exterminating traitors that threaten his realm from within. That you wanted to show him you're no longer a little boy but a Prince capable of protecting the family's hold on the Iron Throne."

"I couldn't." Joffrey muttered.

"Then he'll never take notice of you," said Littlefinger.

Joffrey stared at the two men and felt himself grow small beneath their gaze. "I'll do it."

Renly and Littlefinger shared a quick glance at each other out of the corner of their eyes, satisfied with their work.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:

raiha - Thanks for the review. I agree portraying Joffrey as a stupid and evil character for the sake of having an evil character would be boring. As it's an AU I intend to develop him as a character, maybe even attempt to make him a bit more of a sympathetic character but at the moment he's very much an evil and stupid boy because his upbringing has left him ill prepared for dealing with the real world.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"Let's go back, please." Myrcella's personal attendant pleaded to her.

"Come on, they're just stories. Queen Jeyne doesn't really haunt these halls."

The two young girls froze as they heard something. Myrcella strained her ears and heard a low voice. She thought it sounded like uncle Renly but the voice didn't talk long enough for her to be certain. As soon as the voice stopped they heard footsteps. Myrcella turned around to see her attendant had already bolted down the corridor as fast as her legs could take her.

She wanted to run but was too scared to move as the footsteps came closer. She let out a gasp of relief as she saw him, expecting a guard who'd take her to her mother for a telling off. He looked more terrified than she did. They stared at each other speechless.

Eventually Myrcella managed to summon a smile. "Hello Joffy."

Joffrey's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"I went for a walk," she stated. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business."

"Were you with uncle Renly?" she asked, curious.

"What did you hear?" he demanded as he closed the gap between them. Joffrey grabbed hold of his sister's arm. "What did you hear?"

"Let me go!" Myrcella struggled to free herself from his painful grip. "I didn't hear anything!" she shouted.

Joffrey released her and turned away.

Myrcella rubbed her reddened arm, normally Joffrey's bullying didn't get to her but he'd never got physical with her before and that worried her. "I'm telling mother," she said beneath her breath.

Joffrey whipped round and slapped her across the face.

Myrcella stumbled to the floor and held her cheek crying. The small smile that curled up the corners of Joffrey's mouth as he saw the tears hurt her even more than the slap. With a cruel chuckle Joffrey walked out of the tower.

* * *

The harsh clangs of steel slamming against steel ringed again and again. The brutal vibrations of each blow nearly wrenched the war hammer from Eddard's hands.

The Prince was sweating profusely, his black hair plastered to his head. The sun, baking him in his full plate armour and constantly initiating the attacks were taking their toll. His swings were becoming desperate, as if it was vital each one had to be the winning swing, knowing full well he couldn't keep up such a barrage. He was exhausted and his father, despite being severely out of shape, kept blocking with ease. The more frustrated and frantic Eddard became, the more Robert grinned.

After several more attacks, which were snapped aside with savage blocks, Robert grew bored. He was hot and he could feel the beginnings of blisters on his palms, his skin rubbing against his war hammer's leather grip. As his son lunged in again, Robert sidestepped him, grabbed his son's hammer and ripped it from his hands with brute strength, then brought the head of his hammer up to the Prince's throat.

Eddard resisted the urge to let out a yelp. His eyes drifted down onto his father's war hammer, the very weapon that snuffed out the life of Prince Rhaegar. He could finally see why the likes of Ser Barristan use to say Robert's mere presence was enough to paralyse some of his enemies.

Robert dropped the hammers and leaned them against a small wall that ringed a patch of grass. He motioned for Lancel Lannister, his squire to approach. The King's squire handed Robert a cup of watered down wine from the silver tray that he seemed to constantly carry. The King drained it, then turned to Eddard.

"Not bad. But keep your wrists loose, that's why you lost to Jon's squire." Robert noticed Eddard's head drop. "Losing to him was nothing to be ashamed of. Jon pushes his squires hard. I should know."

While father and son sparred Lord Jon Arryn appeared from one of the doors that led back into the grand building behind him. He watched the two duel with a small smile on his lips, struggling to remember the last time a soberish Robert was as happy. Many said the Iron Throne broke Robert Baratheon but Jon Arryn knew the truth, it was his sons. He knew what it was like to fear for your legacy, his own son was a sickly and whiny child who'd struggle to run the Vale once he was dead.

Lyanna's death devastated Robert and he struggled under the pressures of ruling but when Joffrey was born Jon hadn't seen Robert that happy since the Eyrie. But Joffrey turned out to be a disappointment to the King. There were similarities between them. They both had willful personalities, an advanced knowledge of the military history of the realm and unfortunately the same grasp and dislike of politics but Joffrey was also reckless and cruel, all of which Lord Arryn knew would lead to a king prone to irrational and bad judgements.

But it was Joffrey's cowardness that hurt Robert. Joffrey was exceptional with a crossbow, Jon believed he had the potential to be the best shot in the realm but as devastating a weapon as a bow is, it was still a coward's weapon. Arryn thought of Baratheon history. Orys Baratheon, half brother to Aegon the Conqueror slew Argilac the Arrogant to take the Stormlands; it was Baratheon's who provided the bulk of the force that won the Battle of the Redgrass Field, ending the Blackfyre Rebellion; Robert Baratheon slew Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident while Stannis Baratheon held off a Tyrell host at Storm's End and defeated Victarion Greyjoy, crushing the Iron Fleet off Fair Isle. And now there was Joffrey Baratheon, whose idea of a warrior was standing behind a pavise shield firing crossbow bolts at a distant enemy.

Eddard and Tommen fared no better in the King's eyes. Tommen was a good hearted boy who always tried his best but he lacked the strong will that Robert and Joffrey had and it was doubtful he'd ever have the aggressive streak required of a warrior. Jon had hoped that Eddard would be the one to lay Robert's fears to rest. He looked like a proper Baratheon and shared some of his father's hobbies and traits, namely a foul temper, fighting, and being troublesome. But even he fell short. His nervous stammer and a childhood spent book learning, which Jon assumed must have been a Lannister thing as Robert and Renly both disdained the idea, didn't help and until recently showed no proficiency with either sword or shield. As far as Robert was concerned the real Baratheon line would end with him and his brothers. Jon remembered when Robert told him that whenever he thought of his sons he was certain he could hear the mocking laughter of Ser Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm.

The Hand of the King approached once the Prince had walked away from his father to have his armour removed.

"Your Grace, I thought you would like to know we've received word from Winterfell. They'll be here in a month."

Robert hated hearing Jon call him by his title but he knew that Jon Arryn was too respectful to tradition to call his King by his name. "Good. I best get him prepared for their visit." Robert looked over to see a servant help Eddard out of his armour. "Ned, get yourself cleaned up. We're going riding."

"About our business with the Tyrells."

"Your business." Robert corrected. "I favour no match with them."

Jon bit his tongue to prevent himself from pointing out that a match with the Tyrell's would not only bring financial benefits to the treasury but also shift the balance of power away from the Lannister's, he didn't want to rehash this old argument as he knew Robert couldn't see past the fact that they sided with the Mad King, despite the aid they gave in crushing the Greyjoy Rebellion. "Regardless, it would be prudent to finalise some details of the contract."

"They can wait. Hopefully Ned's daughters mean I won't have to deal with those rose vomiters."

"Shall I have Lord Stannis assist with the finalisations?" Lord Arryn asked.

"Stannis? He's returned?"

"Yes. Lord Stannis wishes to speak to me regarding an urgent matter."

Robert waved it off, considering Stannis' concerns as unimportant.

"Yes, let Stannis do it." Robert said with a small smile, knowing full well that his brother would see it as a slight against him.

* * *

Eddard peeled his sweat ladened tunic off his skin and aired it out. He turned to his servant, who appeared to be buckling under the weight of the plate armour he was carrying. "Afterwards, on my desk is a letter. Make sure it reaches Highgarden."

Not looking where he was going the Prince bumped into Lord Varys as he came out of a chamber.

"I'm sorry, my prince." Varys began to apologise.

"No, no. The fault is mine." Eddard apologised absently, too busy wondering whether the Master of Whisperers had heard what he said. He dismissed the thought, realising if he was as good as people said then he probably knew already about his correspondents with Lady Margaery.

Eddard noticed something flying down the corridor and gave a involuntarily grunt as Myrcella barrelled into him. She was shaking, her whole body racked with sobs. His pondering instantly made way for concern. Gripping her shoulders gently he pushed her back so he could look at her. Her eyes were red and swollen, strands of her long, blonde hair clung to her face, sticky with tears. Eddard frowned and pushed them aside, seeing a red mark on her cheek.

"Who did this?"

"Joffy," she said quietly. "He hit me."

"He did what?" Eddard felt his frown deepen.

"We were in the broken tower."

"You were together?"

Myrcella shook her head. "He was there with uncle Renly, I think." She looked up at him. "I only went there to look around."

Instantly forgotten, Lord Varys stood in the background and began to wonder why Renly and Joffrey would be meeting in the broken tower. As far as he knew they rarely spoke, if anything Renly disliked Joffrey as much as everyone else.

"Come on. I'll take you to mother." Eddard completely missed the significance of Renly and Joffrey meeting, the red mark on Myrcella's face clouding his judgement.

He noted a watery gratitude in his sister's eyes as he took hold of her hand.

"Thank you," she whispered

The Prince softened. "You're my sister, you don't need to thank me."

As the Prince and Princess headed towards the Queen's chambers Varys' mind raked over the reasons why Joffrey and Renly would be meeting. He found no answers beyond greed and for a man who prided himself on knowing people's secrets that left an uneasy feeling he didn't like. For a moment, he wondered about mentioning it to the King, but quickly decided not to. There was really nothing to tell him yet.

* * *

Tyrion found his sister sat at a long table looking a mixture of puzzled and furious, alternating between different parchments. She threw down the parchments on the table in disgust.

"What are you doing, sister?"

"What are you doing here?" Cersei asked without taking her eyes off the parchments.

"Can't a brother visit his big sister?"

Cersei looked up from the papers, giving into his original question. "Pycelle's given me the small council's minutes."

"Aren't those supposed to be private?" Tyrion asked as he sat down opposite her. "What interesting things have you discovered?"

Cersei could tell her brother was asking mockingly. "Lord Arryn has been negotiating with Lord Tyrell regarding his daughter and Joffrey."

Tyrion frowned at the match but not because he felt any concern for Joffrey.

"Imagine the position Joffrey would be in with the Tyrell's supporting him." Cersei said.

Tyrion assumed whatever proposal Lord Tyrell submitted to the small council it had to be large in order to seduce Cersei like this and make her miss the danger of such a match. "Imagine what Lord Tyrell could do with a grandson sitting on the Iron Throne."

Cersei thought for a moment but quickly dismissed the potential dangers of bring the Tyrell's into the royal family; she was certain she could outsmart Lord Tyrell. "What would you suggest?" she asked, expecting to laugh at his answer.

"The Stark's."

Cersei clenched one of the parchments tighter; there was no way she was giving up one of her children, especially Joffrey to that family. "You sound just like Robert."

Tyrion laughed off his sister's insult. "It's one of the few smart ideas the King's come up with. If Joffrey marries Lady Margaery then court will be crawling with Tyrell's. The Stark's would at least remain in Winterfell."

"But the Stark's offer nothing."

"Nothing but loyalty to their own." Tyrion pointed out. "The Stark's would be as obedient and loyal to Joffrey as dogs. Joffrey only needs a queen who'll produce an heir."

"Is that what I am? An heir producer."

"You know better than anyone the truth about your marriage."

Cersei mentally sighed, not wanting to give Tyrion the satisfaction of knowing he'd got to her. Her brother was right. Her marriage was political, a union with the aim of stabilising a realm divided by civil war. There was no such instability now. All Joffrey needed was someone who could continue his line.

"Besides, Tyrell's would manoeuvre." Tyrion added.

"We can foil any Tyrell plots."

"They've already started. Or didn't you notice that Eddard wore Lady Margaery's favour at the tourney." He originally wanted to keep his sister in the dark about that piece of information for his nephew's sake but it seemed the Tyrell's were now a threat to the family.

Cersei couldn't help but frown as she thought. She now hated the idea of having to choose between giving her sons up to either the Star'ks or the Tyrell's. Then something dawned on her. "Cerenna and Myrielle need husbands."

Tyrion was speechless. He hated to admit it but even he was occasionally impressed with his sister's cunning. She wasn't as smart as she perceived herself but she could come up with some good ideas. He knew their father would approve of the idea. Cerenna and Myrielle were their mother's nieces and any such unions between them and the two Princes would ensure House Lannister's prominent position would be maintained well into the next generation.

Before he could respond to Cersei's plan a knock at the door came.

"Come in." The Queen called.

Myrcella entered first closely followed by Eddard. Cersei rose from her chair when she saw her daughter's red and swollen eyes. She quickly strode over to them and enveloped Myrcella in a hug,

"What's happened?" Cersei asked as she kissed her daughter's head.

"I was looking around the broken tower and..." Myrcella trailed off, wiping away some more tears. "I bumped into Joffy and he hit me."

"Myrcella, you shouldn't have been in the broken tower." Cersei said. "It's very dangerous there."

Eddard couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was their mother really more concerned with rebuking Myrcella for being in the wrong part of the castle rather than punishing Joffrey for hitting his sister? He squeezed Myrcella's shoulder to show he supported her.

"And what of Joffrey?" The Prince asked.

"I will speak with him," came the reply.

With a humph Eddard turned and left.

* * *

Robert and Eddard rode to the Kingswood, across the Wendwater river and deeper into the forest, not a single word passing between them. When the trees became too dense for their large horses to navigate they continued on foot, careful not to make too much noise on the forest undergrowth.

"What's on your mind, boy?" Robert had sensed something was troubling Eddard.

"I have a question about Joffy."

Robert tensed up, his children wasn't his favourite conversation topic.

"Why is he different to us? I mean Tommen, Myrcella and I." Eddard finally asked the question that had nagged him for years. Surely there was more to it than because he's the heir. His father wasn't the most attentive but surely even he saw how much of a terror Joffrey was?

"He's a shit for one." Robert knew he probably shouldn't describe one of his children as such but being a man of zero diplomatic tact he couldn't think of any other way to describe his heir. The King softened. "As you'll find out some day, you view your first born as...," he paused, struggling to think of a suitable word, "special. The same way you children view your mother."

_That might be because she acts like a parent to us. _Eddard quickly dismissed the bitter thought.

"Your first born is the memory of the pride you feel becoming a parent for the first time." Robert continued. "When your mother looks at him she sees that perfect little boy that made her a mother."

_So we're not perfect? _ "What about you?" Eddard couldn't build up the courage to ask the first question.

"When I look at Joffy I see...Maybe I..." Robert trailed off, not wanting to admit that maybe he sometimes exaggerated the negative aspects of his children. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"He hit Myrcella."

Robert's jaw clenched. He knew Joffrey was a bully who tormented Tommen, going as far as to kill and skin his pet fawn but he had never raised his hand to his youngest siblings. Robert knew he wasn't a brilliant brother but even he didn't beat Stannis or Renly when they were younger. "I'll deal with it when we get back. Come on, we're not far."

* * *

After several minutes of walking in silence he saw it in a nearby clearing.

The wild stag froze for a few seconds, staring at the newcomers.

Eddard was fascinated by the magnificent creature, his eyes fixated on its thick antlers. He'd seen plenty of drawings of the animal but had never been so close to one. He couldn't help but stare in awe at how the stag transformed from a harmless looking animal feeding leisurely into a majestic creature.

"Slightest provocation will send it charging at us, retreating only when its opponent has been defeated." Robert whispered.

Absent of thought Eddard took a step back.

The stag kept its fierce stare as it lowered its head, displaying its antlers to the intruders of his domain.

Eddard couldn't work out who was more frightening, the mighty stag or King Robert I. The Prince felt unequal to the power they both seemed to radiate. He could see why in stories stags were associated with regalness.

"He's spotted me." Eddard said hesitantly.

"Good."

His father's response confused him. "But, he'll attack. He's so big and so..."

"And you?" His father interrupted. "Who are you?"

The question rattled the Prince while the stag began to paw the ground with its left hoof, as if clearing the battlefield.

"Are you a coward or the King's son?"

Eddard felt as if his father's gaze was piercing his soul. "I like a fight, b-but..."

"A man goes to the limit of his strength. A Baratheon goes beyond it. No test should daunt you. You can either leave or catch the stag."

"It's certain death."

"My father once told me, "Take for yourself the power of a stag, forever young, with a stout heart and sharp antlers, stronger than any enemy.""

Eddard raised his head and held his father's gaze, his words stirring something deep within.

The stag snorted, irritated by the sound of their voices.

As he turned to face the animal Eddard began to ponder what would work against an animal this big and fast. He'd only ever managed to kill wild boar with a bow.

Robert handed his son some rope. "His strength is his head. Catch him by the antlers and you'll have him."

Eddard began to tie a slip knot as he rehearsed in his head how he was going to do this.

"Don't miss, you won't get a second chance."

Riled by human presence the stag grew impatient. As Eddard watched the stag's pawing become faster and more aggressive it dawned on him that once roped it would take the strength of a giant to hold it, a strength he lacked.

The stag charged forward, antlers lowered.

Surprised by its speed, Eddard quickly threw himself aside and tossed the lasso. The rope sailed through the air and landed on the stag's back.

The Prince hit the ground with a heavy thud. The angry stag continued to race forward, then swung around menacingly and lunged towards him. Eddard scrambled to his feet and watched the stag, prepared to look death in the face.

Suddenly the stag stopped in its tracks. Robert had roped it tight around the antlers. The wild animal struggled to break free. Eventually beaten, the stag relaxed. The King released the animal and watched the creature lumber off deeper into the Kingswood.

"You beat him." Eddard said in a mixture of disbelief and awe.

"No, the male of this breed can't be broken." Robert looked at his son. "Your childhood will be over soon. When you become a man grown you'll have a wife and responsibilities."

"But I didn't catch the stag." Eddard replied, sure he had failed the test.

"You conquered your fear, the first enemy that needs to be defeated."

They started to walk back to their horses as the sun began to set. After a while Eddard noticed his father was slowing down.

"My leg is bothering me," said Robert. "An old war wound. I need to stop and rest."

Night fell and Robert was still in pain.

"Sleep, we'll head back in the morning," he told Eddard. "My leg will keep me awake."

* * *

Odd strays of sunlight streaked through the thick canopy of the Kingswood. Eddard let out a groan as his eyelids failed to keep out the offending light. Sitting up he discovered his father had gone. The Prince retraced the way to where the horses were tied up, only to discover they were gone too. He was alone in the Kingswood - without food, water, nothing but a rusty old sword left where his horse once stood and more than several hours ride from home.

He calculated it would take days; a week even to get back to King's Landing on foot and that was only if he didn't manage to get lost on the way. Then he remembered that they crossed the Wendwater.

_I'm nearer Storm's End than King's Landing._

Boiling with rage he set off for his ancestral home.

* * *

Margaery was seated in front of her vanity table, a letter in hand, staring off into nothing, her thoughts up in the clouds. She was startled out of her daydream by the letter being snatched out of her hands. She spun around as she rose to see Loras had sneaked in and was now over to the other side of the room, his eyes scanning the letter.

"No, Loras," she cried. "Please give it back." She hurried over to him.

"My heart and I surrender into your hands." Loras began to read with a laugh in his voice, fighting off his sister's attempts to take back the letter.

"No, please." Margaery pleaded as Loras easily kept her away with one arm.

"My heart, body and soul is your most loyal and most assured servant." Loras looked at Margaery. "Awww, bless."

"Give me the letter." Margaery requested.

"He's in love with you." Loras teased.

"Give it back!" she demanded, anger creeping into her voice.

Loras studied her face for a few moments and then handed the letter back to her. "You're not in love with him, are you?"

Margaery remained silent and found herself unable to look at her brother as he sighed.

"Don't let this masquerade consume you. You know grandmother's using him in case anything goes wrong with Joffrey."

"I know...you don't understand."

"Of course I do." Loras knew exactly how it felt. "You can tell me. I'm your brother."

"If only you were as you use to be." Margaery said. "I use to be able to tell you everything."

"And you still can." Loras moved in closer to console her. "You can tell me your secrets."

"I can't."

"Why?" Loras tried to mask the hurt he felt.

"You'd share them." _With Renly. _She'd never admit it publicly but she hated that Baratheon. Ever since Loras became his squire she noticed that they were slowly growing apart. They might act as devoted siblings but that deeper bond between them was fading. "Why are you here Loras?"

"Father's getting impatient. He's decided you and grandmother will accompany me back to the capital at the end of the month in the hopes of expediting the negotiations."

* * *

Lord Baelish entered his private quarters inside his pleasure house to find the seat behind his desk already occupied. Baelish studied the newcomer intently, his calculating gaze unwavering.

"And what do I owe the pleasure?" Lord Baelish said eventually.

"Please sit," the newcomer said in a heavily accented voice, gesturing to the seat in front of the desk.

Baelish did as he was told, he realised the folly of not doing what they told him to do.

The newcomer picked up a jug and a cup. "Drink?" He offered Baelish his own wine.

"No."

The newcomer poured himself a drink and took several gulps. He sat back and cradled the cup in one hand. "I am sorry to appear in such an unaccustomed manner, Lord Baelish, but my employers require an update as soon as possible and due to the delicate nature of their request, secrecy was necessary. I hope I haven't caused any undue alarm."

Littlefinger examined the newcomer's face and noticed that one of his eyelids drooped, giving him the appearance of someone forever in deep thought. "Of course not." Glancing round, Littlefinger could see a shadowy figure had taken up position in front of the door. "I have convinced the Crown Prince and Lord Renly on a course of action that will result in what your employers want."

"Renly Baratheon?" The newcomer asked, surprised.

Baelish nodded. He never liked Renly but for now it was vital he kept the powerful Lord as an ally. He tended to trade on insider knowledge. He knew war was inevitable, not only because Robert was a poor King and he knew Joffrey would be worse but because the realm's ledger was in such a bad state. And when war did break out he didn't want to lose any chance to side with the Reach and the Stormlands simply because he and Renly didn't get along.

Littlefinger had ambitions beyond being Lord of the Fingers, owning pleasure houses and being the Master of Coin. He knew the status quo didn't change in peace time and it would be usurpers that made him wealthier and more powerful. But he was a patient man, prepared to wait until Robert had drunk himself into an early grave and Joffrey failed on the Iron Throne but contact with the newcomer meant he had to speed up his plans.

The newcomer wanted a war and the sacking of Darry would help start one. The fact that the destruction of House Darry would result in one less opponent to him becoming Lord Paramount of the Trident was an added extra.

"Yes. Joffrey doesn't have a favourable opinion of him so he wants him gone." Lord Baelish lied. He was pretty certain Renly had an ulterior motive but didn't want to say anything until he knew what it was and how he could gain from it.

The newcomer nodded, accepting the answer. "How big will it be?"

"How big of a war do you want?"

"The bigger the selection of kings the better." The newcomer paused to take a sip of his drink and studied Littlefinger carefully. "I'm going to be very candid with you, Lord Baelish. As you well know my employers have tried to talk and have offered alternatives, but your King has refused any further dialogue and insists on maintaining the previous level of repayments. We have been left with no other option than to take this matter into our own hands. The Seven Kingdoms will realise that the Iron Bank will have its due."


End file.
